


you caught me under false pretenses

by merrymegtargaryen



Series: supermassive black hole [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, First Time, Impregnation, Ritual Sex, Rituals, some very light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27370951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/pseuds/merrymegtargaryen
Summary: When the ice has melted and the snows come in light flurries rather than storms, the people of the North prepare for the spring festival. It is a time-honored tradition, one where the great houses of the North gather at Winterfell to thank the old gods for seeing them through the winter. Ten days of feasting, music, dancing, and Theon’s favorite: honoring the gods by making new life.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Series: supermassive black hole [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996837
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21
Collections: Theon Greyjoy Kink Bingo





	you caught me under false pretenses

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably my favorite of my kink bingo pieces so far, but it's my favorite pairing, so was that any surprise?
> 
> I drew heavily on ancient celebrations like Beltane and Imbolc for this, and there is some very light inspiration taken from Midsommar. Everything is consensual, just...amplified, I guess you could say.
> 
> Enjoy!

The old gods are not Theon’s gods, but tonight, they may as well be. 

When the ice has melted and the snows come in light flurries rather than storms, the people of the North prepare for the spring festival. It is a time-honored tradition, one where the great houses of the North gather at Winterfell to thank the old gods for seeing them through the winter. Ten days of feasting, music, dancing, and Theon’s favorite: honoring the gods by making new life.

That’s what they call it, the Northern lords. Men and women lie with each other under the full moon, and if their union pleases the gods, they will conceive a child. It is the one time unmarried men and women can lie together without shame or judgment, the one time children born of an unwed union are not called bastards.

Theon doesn’t really care about conceiving a child; he just wants to fuck some girls who will abandon all modesty beneath the spring moon. 

He follows Robb out to the field where a roaring bonfire rises high above the circle of dancers. Most of the celebrants have blue paint on their faces in lines and dots and sworls, wreaths of primrose and hawthorn and rowan woven around their heads in crowns or tied to their belts. Everyone wears the traditional blue and white tunics, and though most of them have arms bared, they do not seem to feel the cold; the fire and the dancing and the bitter drink being poured seems to warm them. 

“What is this drink? I mean what does it  _ do _ ?” Theon asks even as a pretty girl with flowers in her hair hands him and Robb cups.

Robb just smiles. “You’ll see.”

.

An hour later and Theon does see. 

Everything is warm and happy and fine; he doesn’t know the steps to the dance, but he dances with all his heart, arms around the people on either side of him and laughter filling his throat. He feels lighter than air, warmed by the fire and the dance and the people all around him. When the dancers break free from the circle, spinning, he joins them, elated.

This isn’t like being drunk off wine or ale; his senses are distorted, yes, but sharper, somehow. When he throws back his head to look up at the stars, he sees the same dots and sworls on the faces of the celebrants, sees the old gods themselves, it seems. He stares up at them long after he’s stopped spinning, trying to make sense of it all.

“What are you staring at?”

He looks down and sees a goddess with blue paint on her face and a crown of primroses on her head.

No, not a goddess, he realizes.

Jeyne Poole, Sansa’s little friend.

Not that she’s very little anymore. She’d grown into a woman over the long winter, and only a blind man wouldn’t be able to see her beauty.

“The stars,” he says at last. 

She stares up at him. “Why?”

“The old gods.” He doesn’t offer to elaborate, but thankfully, she nods as if she understands.

“They’re with us tonight.”

“Aye.” That’s what this whole festival is about, isn’t it? The old gods being with them.

Jeyne lays an uncertain hand on his arm. “Will you...honor the gods with me?”

It only takes a moment for him to take her meaning, and when it does, he grins. Little Jeyne Poole, a woman grown now...and asking for him. 

Well, he  _ had _ come here to fuck pretty girls, hadn’t he?

“Aye,” he says. “I’ll honor the gods with you.”

She looks relieved and nervous all at once. She’s never done this before. Well, he’ll make it good for her. He’s never had a virgin before, but he’ll go slow. A girl like Jeyne ought to have a good lover before she gets married off to some old man with bad breath who’s never made a woman finish in his life. 

He takes her hand, leading her away from the fire. There are other couples honoring the gods dotted here and there; he leads her past them, down a small slope where he doesn’t think they’ll be found. There, he sits on the ground, pulling her into his lap. He can feel her pulse racing, so he kisses her slowly, running his knuckles up and down her spine. 

She melts against him, arms around his neck and her chest pressed to his. She lets out little humming and gasping sounds that make him hard; he moves his kisses to her neck, teeth scraping the soft skin there. Her fingers tangle in his hair, her chest heaving as she gasps and moans. He lifts the hand at her waist to her breast, thumb rubbing her nipple through her dress. The noise she lets out is positively animal, head tipping back as he pinches and nips at her. Her neck and breasts will bear his marks in the morning, and the thought fills him with a possessiveness he didn’t know he had. 

“Jeyne,” he says hoarsely, and she lowers eyes dark with desire to look at him. 

“You’ve never been with a man before, have you?”

She shakes her head.

“Come here.” He shifts her in his lap, settling her between his legs with her back to his chest. He squeezes her breast, lowering his head to murmur in her ear. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

He pulls her dress up to her hips, licking his fingers before seeking her out. 

Jeyne moans, her flower-crowned head tipping back against his shoulders as he brushes his fingers over her wet, warm center. Her hands grip his knees, anchoring her as he explores her. He can’t ever remembering taking this much pleasure from just touching a girl before. His teeth scrape her neck again, tongue soothing the red marks from his teeth as his fingers add more pressure. She’s wet, and he could have her now, but he wants her to be more than just wet; he wants her to be ready and begging for it.

Slowly, he pushes one finger inside her. 

They gasp as one, chests heaving as he touches what no man has touched before. Jeyne’s fingers threaten to bruise his legs, but he doesn’t care; he hopes he’ll get a few more bruises before the night is over.

Theon pushes in up to his knuckle and slides back out, using the heel of his palm to grind against her. Her hips buck against his hand as she tries to grind back, mewling and helpless against him. When he adds a second finger and crooks both inside her, she comes with a shout, her cunt clenching around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his other arm anchoring her against him as she shudders and gasps. He kisses her head and murmurs to her until the trembling passes, the vice like grip on his hand loosened. 

“What was that?” she asks shakily. 

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You’ve never done that before? Not even with yourself?”

“No? Is it...good?”

“Oh, it’s very good,” he assures her, kissing her cheek. “And I intend to make it happen again.”

She shivers, hips lightly rocking against his hand. 

“I want to be inside you,” he continues, pulling his hand from her. She watches with hooded eyes as he licks her from his fingers, unable to keep the grin from his face. “Can I do that?”

“You can do whatever you want,” she breathes.

Trying not to take this as a challenge, he moves back, urging her to lie down. She does, and draws in a sharp breath.

“It’s cold.”

“I’ll warm you.” Even so, he lies down in the grass, pulling her on top of him. She looks uncertain, but she lets him guide her, sinking down slowly on his cock.

She feels so sweet he nearly finishes then and there. He breathes hard, fingers gripping her hips so she doesn’t move.

“Oh,” Jeyne is moaning, and he can feel her trying to move, trying to adjust to this new sensation. “Oh, this is...is it always like this?”

“Only with me,” he jests, but he can barely keep his thoughts straight. He can’t tell if this is the drink heightening his senses or just her. 

Slowly, he relaxes his grip on her, letting her move experimentally. He is still painfully hard, but he breathes deeply, willing himself to think about the moon and the stars and anything but Jeyne wrapped around him. 

“Is it...am I doing it right?”

He chokes. “Yes.” 

She bites her lip. “You look...pained.”

He sits up, shifting her in his lap and kissing her deeply. “I’m not. I’m just trying not to finish before we’ve even begun.”

She smiles, endearingly shy despite their current state. “Oh.”

He kisses her again, and tugs at the hem of her tunic. “Can I see you? All of you?”

She nods, still shy, and starts pulling off her tunic. He helps, easing it over her head so as not to knock off her flower crown. She tugs at his own tunic, and he helps her pull that off, too. 

She’s beautiful.

Bathed in moonlight, naked as her name day, the gods’ marks on her face and a crown of yellow primroses in her hair, she looks even more like a goddess than she did by the fire. 

Theon wraps her legs around his waist and thrusts lightly. Jeyne gasps, limbs tightening around him. He thrusts a little harder, a little faster, slowly working up a rhythm until they’re both clawing for more. 

“Don’t stop,” she begs, nails biting his back. “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop, I need...I need…”

He knows what she needs, and he reaches between them, sliding his hand down to touch her where they’re joined together.

It’s Jeyne who bites him now, teeth sinking into his shoulder. He curses, hips jerking as he threatens to spill inside her. 

“Do it again,” she begs, grinding against him. “I want you to…”

“What?” he asks, quite liking this side of her. “What do you want me to do?”

Her hips roll desperately. “Put a baby in me.”

The thought of her belly round with his child undoes him; he thrusts hard up into her, his fingers working as deftly as they’re able.

Her release comes with his, her cry sounding like a sweet melody. Theon fucks her until there’s nothing left, and then he kisses every inch of her he can reach, shaken from how hard he’d come. He wonders again if it’s the drink, or if there’s something special about Jeyne. 

Somehow, he thinks it’s Jeyne. 


End file.
